


It's 3 a.m and you're still not fucking here.

by onedaygonnabe_decadent



Series: Destiel Scenes [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onedaygonnabe_decadent/pseuds/onedaygonnabe_decadent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got inspiried. I always imagined that domestic Destiel would be just as volatile as canon Dean and Cas. This is the result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's 3 a.m and you're still not fucking here.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: domestic abuse (light) and also Dean and Cas being total idiots.

Dean was  _pissed._

And why shouldn't he be? Cas had been a dick of epic proportions lately, what with him skipping their  _assigned weekly_ movie date in favor of doing fuckall-knows with Andy. The fucker had been snappy and irritated with Dean, glaring when he thought Dean couldn't see, like Dean was being the jerk, like  _he_ was the fucking  _victim_.

And the cherry on top on his fucking shitty week -- his professors had also decided that this was national-be-a-dick-to-Dean-week -- was that Andy -- Andy, fucking irritating, annoying Andy that Dean barely tolerated on his best days -- had called to tell him that  _Cas was too fucking wasted to make the drive home sorry Dean I'm basically stealing your boyfriend on the one day a week you can actually spend time with him actually I'm not sorry, 'kay bye._ Dean could hear fucking Cas being all stupid-giggly in the background, which had egged Dean's anger levels into the smiting zone. 

Cas only got giggly when he was really fucking drunk, which was also the stage he also got real cuddly. Cas was cuddly-giggly drunk with  _Andy_ , who Dean couldn't stand and also  _had a crush on fucking Cas for years_.

Dean was going to break something. Preferably Andy's face, but whatever worked.

The only thing that kept him from flying into a destructive rage that would end with the apartment trashed and Dean even _angrier,_ if that was even fucking possible, was the mostly full bottle of Jack Daniels that Dean was steadily draining. Except, it wasn't working to tone down the rage that boiled somewhere low in his gut. In fact, the only thing it really did was fuel the fire inside of him, and send the into a kaleidoscope of here-now-gone that just served to irritate Dean further because one moment he'd be sitting at the table, and the next he'd have fallen to the floor on his trip to the fridge 'cause  _dammit he was starving._

Hours of drinking later, Dean was still sitting at the damn table, still alone even though it was almost  _three-fucking-a.m._ The only real difference was that he had managed to turn on the radio to a station that played loud enough songs that the pounding of his heart faded into the background. His hands were shaking, but that could have been from the cold stillness of the apartment or his own damn nervous tendencies.

There was a fumble at the door, a loud laugh that sounded familiar, followed by a cheerful shushing noise that was almost the exact opposite of being quiet. A key was drunkenly inserted into the lock and then Cas stumbled in, followed by Andy, who was pressed to close to Cas's back for Dean's comfort. He barely resisted the urge to throw the bottle of Jack at the two of them. _  
_

Cas latched onto the counter with his hand, yanking Andy closer to whisper something in his ear with the other hand, and  _okay that was fucking enough_. Dean surged out of his seat, glaring fiercely at the asshole practically attached to his boyfriend. Andy blanched at his expression and scrambled out of the apartment. Smart of him. Dean wasn't entirely opposed to murder right about now.

Cas staggers in his direction, and Dean looks away, trying to get a handle on his rage. His teeth hurt from how hard he clenched his jaw, and the bottle creaked ominously under his grip. He took another swig, hoping the acrid taste would burn the anger from his mouth. No dice.

"Th'hells your problem?" Cas grumbles. He stumbles toward the table, making grabby hands for the whiskey in Dean's hands. Dean lets the bottle go because it's either that or break the damn thing over Cas's head. He glowers at Cas but doesn't deign to answer.

Trying to be the mature adult in this relationship because it obviously isn't going to be fucking Cas, Dean takes a slow breath and turns away, heading for the bedroom in the hopes for at least a few hours of nightmare-free sleep before work in the morning. Because Cas evidently doesn't care about Dean's nightmares or anything else, the fucker can damn well sleep on the couch. Serves him right.

"Asshole," Cas mutters, and damn if that doesn't stop Dean right in his tracks. Any thoughts of maturity fly right out proverbial fucking window. He turns slowly, gritting his teeth. Cas is scowling near the table, whiskey half-raised to his mouth to take another swallow, as if he isn't drunk enough already.

"Excuse me?" Dean bites out, praying to whatever deity is out there that Cas did  _not_ just say that, because that's probably the one thing Dean can't  _stand_ being called, and Cas fucking knows that, but he either doesn't care or is too drunk to notice the all-over body shudder that wracks Dean's frame.

The bottle is set down with a loud thud. Cas sneers in his direction. It's a little off-kilter because Cas is wasted and doesn't know left from right, but Dean gets the gist of it. "You heard me. Lousy, needy asshole."

In a flash of movement that Dean barely notices because time is still jerking along in stops and starts like it does when Dean's drunk, he has Cas pinned against the wall, fingers wrapped around his jaw hard enough that Dean can feel the edges of his teeth. Cas's eyes widen marginally when Dean leans in, dangerously close to his face.

"Listen here, you dick. I'm not the one stumbling in fucking wasted at three a.m. on the one night a week I can spend time with you, with Andy, of all people. I don't know what your fucking problem is, but you've been a dick for the past two weeks, and I'm sick of it. Either talk to me like a responsible fucking adult or grow the fuck up. If you're gonna call me names you know I can't stand then get the fuck out until you can act like the adult you're supposed to be." With that, Dean shoves away from Cas, intending to storm back to his room and stew in his anger for a while longer. 

He doesn't expect Cas to latch onto his bicep and yank him back. His fingers dig in hard enough to bruise, and it's an automatic reaction that Dean shies away, balling his free hand into a fist and letting it fly. Before he's realized what he's done, Dean has ripped his arm away from Cas, using his surprise to shove him up against the wall and pin him there with a forearm against the smaller man's collarbone, and Dean's fist has slammed into the wall next to Cas's face.

He's not so far gone that he can sock Cas in the face yet, but it's a close thing. Dean feels hot and cold at the same time, furious and terrified, and his vision blurs slightly, the beautiful paleness of Cas flickering with overtones of a darker, ruddier man. His gut roils with nausea or maybe anger, and he's at his tipping point. One move from Cas will determine where Dean ends up -- a blubbering mess of a trauma victim, or an apologetic man who just  _punched his boyfriend_.

Cas kisses him. Beautiful, wonderful Cas kisses him, like he knows how ineffective words are with Dean, and he kisses him like the world's ending, all teeth and furious dominance and possession. Dean kisses him back, pressing him back up against the wall, but Cas refuses to give an inch, fingers digging into Dean's hips to drag him closer, but it's a controlled strength, a tightness that won't bruise. Cas knows. Cas always knows.

Dean yanks on Cas's wild hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to arch forward to make room, further pressing Cas in closer, tighter. Cas groans when Dean attacks his neck viciously, teeth scraping almost hard enough to hurt, sucking on the pale skin hard enough to leave wet little marks in his wake.

Cas shoves forward, and, like always, Dean bends to his will, stepping back and allowing Cas to shepherd him toward the bedroom in this way. He doesn't even notice the movement until the mattress presses against the back of his knees and he falls backward, Cas tumbling on top of him. Immediately, Dean's hands are occupied with ripping Cas's offensive clothing off, shoving the man to his stomach on the bed and pinning him there by straddling his hips.

Like always, Cas fights, bucking and snarling in an effort to get Dean off him, but Dean knows Cas  _loves_ being pinned and helpless, so he only settles his weight deeper, refusing to give an inch, murmuring praise in Cas's ear when he finally stills, muscles tense and trembling. Normally, Dean would soothe him until he melts into a puddle on the mattress, but right now, Dean doesn't care. Cas can relax on his damn own.

Dean sinks his teeth into the meat of Cas's shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave a mark, urging his legs to spread wider to accommodate Dean between his thighs. He fumbles blindly, searching for the lube left in the bedside desk, slowly rocking against Cas to urge himself towards full hardness. By the sounds Cas is making, muffled by the pillow, he's just as ready to go as Dean is. Good.

Coating his fingers liberally with lube, Dean delves between Cas's cheeks without preamble, thrusting his first finger in all the way up to the last knuckle. Cas cries out, shuddering, and Dean soothes him, smoothing a hand up his side and rubbing gentle circles into his pale skin. He waits until Cas relaxes into the mattress before withdrawing his finger and ramming it in again, hard.

It's going to be one of those nights, rough and rowdy, and by the groans and snarls Cas is muffling with the pillow, he's totally enjoying it. Dean thrusts a second finger in, pushing past the initial tightness of Cas's muscles. Cas is trembling beneath him, rocking back on Dean's hand in obvious pleasure, but he's too tense. 

Dean removes his teeth from Cas's shoulder, sliding up to whisper in his ear. "Easy, baby. Relax. I got you." Cas jerks, nods and lets himself melt into the mattress. Even while angry, Cas still trusts Dean not to hurt him, which he fucking  _shouldn't_ , considering Dean saw at least two bruises forming on his abdomen from Dean's fists.

He swallows the flood of anger and self-hatred, focusing on the feeling of Cas clenching and relaxing around his fingers, rocking back steadily and easily. Dean can scream at himself later. Right now, he needs to focus him attention on the man beneath him, eager and willing and practically begging for it. Nonetheless, Dean expresses his sorrow in the gentle kisses whispered across Cas's skin, an apology without the words.

Cas is loose enough for three fingers and Dean thrusts hard and fast, a mimicry of the brutal fucking Cas is about to receive. Cas begs for it without words, hips canting for easier access, using his limited movement to shove himself back and forth whenever he feels that Dean isn't finger-fucking him as hard as possible.

Dean withdraws, tearing off his clothing. Cas groans in protest, but waits patiently as Dean coats himself in lube. Reaching down, he yanks Cas up by the hips, dropping him onto his hands and knees. Cas's fists clench around the sheets and he spreads his knees for easier access. Dean blankets himself over his boyfriend, lining himself up and slowly thrusting in. Rough sex is nice and all, but Dean isn't about to actually hurt Cas. 

Cas arches into him, panting and practically purring. Dean bottoms out, resting there for a long moment with his hips flush with Cas's before Cas grows impatient, wiggling his hips and leaning forward and pushing back again. Clamping his teeth in Cas's shoulder in warning, Dean settles his hands on pale, sharp hips, pulling away and surging back in. Sparks race from his dick to his spine, and Dean sets up a steady rhythm, brutal and fast and efficient. 

Cas wails in pleasure, head down and participating as much as Dean will let him, which isn't much, really. Dean is overwhelmed by the mix of nausea and pleasure crawling up his throat and into his eyes, and it's all he can do to aim himself correctly so that he hits Cas's prostate and reach around to jerk Cas, quick and dirty because Dean needs this to be over  _now_ , otherwise Dean is going to be sick.

Cas's breath stutters under the double assault of pleasure and it takes too long,  _too fucking long_ for his muscles begin to tense like they do when he's about to come. Dean's close too, or so he thinks because his rhythm is failing under the tightening of Cas's muscles, but while his body feels pleasure, all Dean can feel is Cas's flesh giving way to Dean's fists, can only see bruises forming under pale skin, and Dean is drowning under the sea of his guilt and self-loathing.

But Dean started this, so he's going to damn well finish it. He picks up the pace, gritting his teeth against the sea of emotion sweeping over him. His muscles burn, but that pales in comparison to the fire in his lungs and his throat and his eyes. Cas tenses beneath him, coming with a long, loud cry of Dean's name, and that's all his body needs to reach its peak, shuddering through his orgasm, though Dean feels only a wisp of pleasure. His eyes burn too much to feel good, and his face is embarrassingly wet.

Cas collapses, melting into the bed with a sated sigh, uncaring of the mess he made of the sheets. Dean slips off him and to the side, face turned away so Cas doesn't see the tears rolling down his cheeks. Thankfully, Dean's body is exhausted from staying up for almost twenty-four hours and the bout of rough sex. His mind is whirling but he succumbs to sleep in mere moments.

 

  * * *

 

He really should've known that his nightmares were going to be terrible after his assault on Cas. God, how could he have done that? Punched Cas? Triggers or not, that is unacceptable. Just as unacceptable as the round of near-rape Dean committed afterward.  _Jesus Christ_. How can he ever be forgiven?

Dean barely manages to scramble out of bed a mere hour and a half after he fell asleep before the tidal wave of self-loathing and hatred comes pouring out of his throat. He sits in front of the toilet, shivering, barely noticing the sobs ripping through his chest as he's flooded with the realization of how _terrible,_ how  _worthless_ he really is. May he forever rot in hell for what he did to Cas.   


Kneeling in the bathroom against the cold tile is a just punishment, with his bad knee, so he settles there heavily, bending his ankles in the most uncomfortable position he can think off, ignoring the screaming of his joints as he sobs into his forearms and wishes for all the world that he was dead and gone and no one had to deal with the terrible person he is. Especially not Cas, wonderful Cas who spends his free time at the homeless shelter. He doesn't need the fucking  _demon_ that Dean has become dragging him down.

He should just jump off a cliff. Save himself the trouble of hurting anyone else. 

There's a soft touch on his shoulder, and Dean curls tighter into himself, because Cas, of fucking course Cas would notice him gone and come check on him at four in the morning. Dean could hear him now, settling against the wall behind him, close enough to touch, but Cas doesn't make any other contact besides the caress on his shoulder. Even now, Cas is being considerate, not touching him because Dean can be finicky about touch when he's upset.

Cas doesn't need to say anything, but he's always done that. Always waited for Dean to come to him first, never asked for more than Dean would willingly give. 

"I'm sorry," Dean manages to blubber through his wails. Cas stiffens behind him, and then there's gentle hands pulling his arms away from his face and turning him to face Cas. Dean stares at the floor, unable to look at Cas, at the damage he's done, at the proof of what a horrible fucking person he is.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Cas asks, tenderly holding onto his forearms. Dean doesn't answer. What can he say?

Cas sighs. "Dean, if this about the fact that you hit me, it's okay."

Dean looks up, astonished. How can he be so  _stupid_? Abuse is not okay! "It's not okay."

Cas grimaces. "Bad choice of words," he acquiesces, "what I meant is that it is understandable, and I forgive you. It was my fault. First I called you something that I knew was not okay, and then I grabbed you. It wasn't your fault, Dean." 

Dean shakes his head. Jesus, he never thought Cas would be this utterly stupid. "Of course it's my fault. I hit you. I should've walked away, controlled myself better." 

Cas stares at him in a way that clearly tells Dean that he disagrees, but they've known each other long enough to know that there's no use dissuading each other when they're like this. They sit like that for a while, Cas gazing at Dean steadily, and Dean looking anywhere except at Cas. His knee is fucking  _killing_ him, but damn if he's going to let himself off that easily.

Cas's behavior this past two weeks comes back to Dean while they sit, and he frowns. He has to ask, but he doesn't want to in case the answer isn't the one he wants to hear. Can Dean be anymore selfish? 

"Cas," he starts hesitantly, and if he didn't have Cas's complete attention before, he does now, "do you, y'know...still want to be here?"

"I don't understand."

"Well, it's just.." he trails off, scratching the back of his neck. It's hard to force the words out, but he has to, because he has to give Cas the option, even if it hurts. "These past two weeks you've been...distant. You didn't even notice the nightmares, and last week you skipped movie night so you could hang out with Andy, and then you didn't get home till three-a.m tonight 'cause you were out getting drunk with Andy." 

Cas's silence answers him, and that's about all the answers Dean needs. Tears prick at his eyes, but he's already cried enough tonight, he doesn't need to start again. He can wait until Cas walks out and leaves him a broken mess on the floor. 

"If you want to leave, Cas, then you can. I understand."

Harsh hands grip his chin, forcing him to look at Cas. Dean's pulse skyrockets and the world blurs around him, but he forces himself to relax, forces himself to see _Cas_ and not the image of the man beginning to layer of his boyfriend. God, this hurts, but he deserves it. Dean grits his teeth and accepts the screaming of his body, of his frayed mind as it  begins to spiral under the memories.

Gentle fingers card through his hair, bringing him back to reality. Cas has loosened his grip, and is staring at him with a bit of irritation and a lot of fondness. Dean swallows hard.

"I'm not giving up on you. I'm sorry for my behavior. It won't happen again. I'll be better, I promise."

And okay, maybe Dean should be pushing Cas away, forcing him to see the terrible person that Dean is, but Dean really is selfish and can't help himself from collapsing into Cas's arms, squeezing his boyfriend tightly and muffling a sob in his pale neck.

Cas holds back just as tightly, murmuring apologies in Dean's hair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
